Canada's Child
by Sivilian
Summary: England left his little sister on the frozen island, but Canada takes the girl in.
1. Melville Island

Melville watched her brother, England, sail away from the rocky shore. The chilled waves licked her bare feet as she watched the boat depart. The freezing air turned each new tear into a glistening crystal. She stared out into the horizon long after the ship was out of view. England was the only person she knew. He didn 't want her anymore. She was alone on her land. It wasn't a pretty land, either. And she wasn't an attractive personification of Melville Island.

Her muddy-blonde hair was salty from the ocean air and had been frozen to her back and the sides of her face. Her eyes were wide with fear, a dull color of orange sunset. Her skin was chilled and shivered with every blow of the frosty breeze. If she could live in the clouds, only her hair and eyes would give her away if only she was a part of the endless sky.

She knew why England left her. Melville Island was just a big rock. A big rock that was encrusted in frost. A big rock that could grow no plants except for willow trees that sprawled along the ground. It was uninhabitable by humans. Without England, Melville would perish. Just like the corn crops that tried to sprout in the freezing summer.

-o-o-o-

Melville accepted that in a few weeks she'd be dead. A frozen husk tumbling along the ridges. She'd know no one other than that jerk, Britain.

Melville stripped a rock clean of moss and lichen. She stuffed it her cheeks and gagged as she tried to swallow it. Her stomach moaned. It was empty, but all there was to eat was moss. She crawled pathetically over the stony ground. Maybe there was a dead fish on the pebbly beach.

There was no fish carcasses on the beach as she had hoped. Her hair was dirty and stuck to her cheeks. She brushed it away andspotted something dark on the horizon. It was a boat!

"Did Jerk Britain come back for me?" She spoke aloud. Her voice was cracked, like the waves splitting against cliffs.

She paced the beach excitedly. Her feet were cut by the sharp points of weathered stones, but her sunsetty eyes shone like stars with new hope. She hoped she could live in England's house instead of her hut made from brittle twigs.

She grew anxious. The boat was not England's. It looked scary. There was a big red spot painted on the side. There were words across the sides, but she couldn't read. She just assumed it was a war ship just looking for refuge from the arctic seas for the night. The ship's crew would be disappointed if they tried to explore the island. As the boat dew closer, she hid lower to the scraggly island floor. The boat wasn't as big as she thought. It was much smaller than England's and didn't have any weapon-like features.

She peered behind the soft, grey boulder. The boat was actually small. It must have been the trick of the ice, Melville thought to herself. A man jumped over the side and landed gracefully on the rocky beach. It was like he was used to it already. His hair must have been fifty shades lighter than hers. If he rubbed mud on his head then the color of his hair would be closer to mine, she mused.

The man wore a nice, thick jacket lined with fur. He had boots that shielded his feet from the wickedly sharp stones that made up most of the island's beaches. His eyes looked sweet and adventurous, the same shade and feeling the purple twilight sky offered every clear evening. They looked hidden with knowledge. They were different from England's. He wore these funny glasses, but they were on his head instead of over his eyes.

Her jaw dropped when he turned his head. His face was so much different from England's. He had light skin with pink cheeks- it made him look kind. His face seemed to be sculpted by years of courage, bravery, and the sights of unimaginable moments of war- it made him look wise. He had a determined expression. Determined, yet suddenly shocked.

Melville didn't realize his sparkling twilight eyes were watching her. The man slowly placed his steps, coming towards her carefully.

"Who are you?" She asked frightened.

"I'm Matthew Williams." He replied softly.

"I- I um not..." she couldn't just tell him she represented this wasted island.

"Where are your parents?" Matthew asked.

"I dun't have eny," Melville squeaked, "I nerver have. I nerver will." The last three words so quiet she couldn't even hear herself whisper it.

"Are you tied t this land?" He asked with realization.

She didn't answer.

"I am Canada."

Her eyes widened. She didn't think that there were very many people in the world. Much less representatives of the lands! She spoke carefully, "I am Melville."

-o-o-o-

Canada wrapped a woolen blanket around her shoulders. He scraped jagged rocks together, attempting to make a 'fire.' She had never seen fire. Except when England would contain them in jars. The shards of rock and winding branches seemed to be of use to him. England always said cursed words whenever he stumbled upon a limb of a willow or stepped on the point of a shard.

A spark flew from the two rocks and lit the the bundle of brambles. Canada poured some yellow liquid on the embers. It soon turned into a blazing fire. Melville backed away. She was warmer with this blanket than she ever was. Even when England was with her. With this fire, she felt like the sun was embracing her way too much.

A few meters from the fire reminded her, well, more like made her realize that Melville Island was a lot colder than she thought. The ocean water was probably warmer than the island air. She jumped as Canada's hand touched her shoulder.

"It's okay. It's safe." He smiled with a smile warmer than any fire.

She edged towards the fire, with Canada next to her just in case it would bite her. He sat down on a rounded stone and picked her up and set her on his legs.

Melville tensed up. Not even England touched her. She wondered why she missed England. He was only here for a very brief time. She didn't know how long; she did not know how to count. But this Canada man was much different than him. She guessed that not everyone was the same.

Matthew stroked her matted,tangled hair, "What is your name?"

"Melville..?" Hadn't she already told him her name?

"No, I mean your name name." He explained.

"Oh. I dun't have wun." She said mously.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The Canada man rested the girl on the cot. The cabin was warm and dimly lit. He said he'd be back. He said he needed to pull the sails open and let the boat get off the shore and into the ocean. She hoped he wasn't lying.

The bed was warm and comfy. It was scratchy, though. But she didn't mind at all. Melville rested her head on the fluffy pillow. It was like a cloud on earth that was more tangible than fog. She stared at the candle. It was creamy white and turned from solid to liquid and dripped wax all over the tiny table. Melville realized she was leaving her island. She might never return. She might never see those grey rocks, or the brittle branches, or the twiggy hut she spent forever trying to make. But what did the rest of the world look like? What if he dropped her off somewhere she knows nothing about and she'd be alone with nothing and she'd die in a new place with no experiences and memorable moments?

She blinked and hit her head on the wall of the boat's cabin. He bit his lip and reached out his hand. The arctic current would bring the boat back to Canada, but the waves still rocked the boat n the open water.

"Are you alright?" He asked the girl.

"Yuss." She rubbed her head.

"Do not worry. You will become used to it." Canada comforted her.

She nodded, but she couldn't imagine getting used to it. Canada laughed quietly and stroked her head. She flinched, but she really liked his touch. He stood and stretched, and then he began to walk upstairs to exit the cabin. The boat rocked again and Melville shook.

"Canata!" She called out to him.

Surprised he turned back around, "Yes, Melville?"

She didn't like the sound of her name, "Canata, will you sleep with me?"

He had been planning to sleep outside, so Melville, who semed to not be used to other people, would be comfortable. But he walked back down the stairs smiling. He removed his boots, his goggles, and his jacket. He slipped under the covers with the little girl. He noticed that she was wearing thin mitts that left her finger tips bare. Canada also noticed that her eyes were shining like fire. Her eyes were orange like the glowing embers of fires, and there were golden bands and sparks, too. Her hair was dark like mud, but there were hidden strands of blond and white.

He wrapped his arm around her. She curled up under his arm and drifted into to sleep. He smiled and blew out the candle. It was dark in the cabin, except for the faint starlight that slipped through the small windows.


	2. Fish

Melville woke up. It was dawn and the cabin was lit dimly by the few streaks of sun. Canada was gone, and she felt cold and alone again. She rubbed her two gloved hands together even though she wasn't cold. It was just a habit.

She wrapped a sheet around her and dropped to the wooden floor. Melville tip-toed across the boards. The girl tried not to make the floor creak. She crawled up the stairs on her hands and knees. She tried to open the door but she did,t know how. There was a shiny ball on the door. She poked it, hit it, rubbed it, and turned it. Turning it worked! She turned it until the door pushed open. She poked her head out the door. The sky was brightening, but the clouds were hazy. She watched Canada steer the boat with her orange eyes.

His hair was shiny gold and was waving wildly in a pattern with the wind. The little girl stood up and closed the door behind her. Melville rubbed a lock of hair in her hand. Her hair didn't flow in the wind. It was clumped and stuck to her neck. Why didn't hair flow in the wind like Canada's?

Melville jumped when she hear Canada make noises. They were squeaky and high-hitched. He caught her in the corner of his eye.

"It's called whistling." He laughed.

"Ohw,ohwkay." She nodded.

The smell of salty sea-air greeted Melville coldy. She shivered and walked over to the wheel where Canada was standing. He patted her back. She did not now many words, yet. But, she knew there was a word she could call Canada besides his name.

"Friend?" She whispered.

"Yes, we are friends." He smiled.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Canada told Melville that they would reach land in the evening. The noon sky was still foggy and the sun still hid behind the frosted clouds. He caught a few small fish from the sea and he tried to cook two over a small candle fire. Melville kicked her legs and stared and at Canada while she sat on the cot. He sighed, the fish were hardly cooking. But he couldn't find the cooking supplies so this would have to do. Melville spotted the third raw fish on the floor. She picked up the slippery creature and bit into it. Matthew glanced up at her and went back to cooking. He looked back up.

"What are you doing?"Matthew asked the girl, shocked.

She didn't know that it was bad to eat fish like that, "I um serry..."

He blinked, "I, uh, it's okay, Melville."

She stared at the floor when he said her name.

"People usually don't eat fish without cooking." He explained. Then he realized that Melville didn't liked to be called Melville.

The girl thought that meant she wasn't a person. She scarfed the rest of the tiny fish down when he turned his attention to cooking over the candle. Melville stroked her clumped hair and rubbed her hands together.

Canada began to make a list of names for her in his head. Melvin, Milly, Mandy...

Her comprehensive eyes stole his attention, "I dun't wunt my new name tuh be like Melville."

"Okay, okay" He chuckled handing her a browned fish on a stick.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The boat hadn't reached land yet, so day turned to night and Melville was tired. She said that she would like her fish cooked from now on. He tucked her in bed and blew out the candle. He left her in the cabin and went back out to the icy air.

He started to talk to himself, "Melville Island. Population of zero, and nothing but rocks." Canada just assumed she appeared from nowhere for no reason

But if the island is such a waste of space, why does she exist?

-o-o-o-o-o-

In the morning, they finally reached the northest port in the Yukon province. Melville was still sleeping, so he carried off the ship. The few Canadians at the docks whispered to each other.

"Is she being kidnapped?"

"Where did she come from? She doesn't look like him or Canadian."

"Is she dead?"

But they knew better than to mess with their country. He walked on the dirt road that was dotted with green sprouts. The Yukon air wasn't as cold as the Melvian air, but he still kept her wrapped up and close to her.


End file.
